


No Dogs Inside

by QixxiQ



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (kinda - it's just black goo), Episode Related, Episode: s03e23 Insatiable, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 22:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QixxiQ/pseuds/QixxiQ
Summary: Chris helps Derek remove the Nogitsune fly.





	No Dogs Inside

Chris presses the gun a little firmer against Derek’s chin. “Please, Derek.” There’s no part of him that wants to kill Derek. Not now, not anymore. 

Derek snarls and Chris can see his hands flexing just at the bottom of his vision. He starts to say something else, to try to talk Derek down, when Derek moves. It’s not an attack, more like his strings are cut, the tension holding him up draining away. The neon blue of his eyes flicker and then dull entirely. “Derek?” Chris frowns and pulls the gun back slightly.

The wolf features begin to melt away, leaving his human face slack and his eyes unfocused and confused. He stares past Chris, blinking like he’s trying to clear his head. A slow stream of black begins to flow from Derek’s nose, sliding over his lip and down his chin. 

Even though all his hunter instincts are screaming at him Chris lowers his gun completely. He starts to reach out, to steady Derek’s still swaying form when Derek’s eyes roll to white. He drops backward, slipping past Chris’ outstretched fingers, and crumples to the floor.

Chris reaches out a foot and taps Derek’s thigh a couple of times. “Derek?” He watches the slow, steady rise of Derek’s chest and briefly considers going for the chains he has in the cabinet. Something stops him, the way he and Derek have been over the past few weeks, the growing understanding and acceptance between them, it tells him that whatever this was, it wasn’t the Derek he knows now, not the Derek he trusts now. Still, he tucks the gun into the back of his pants, nice and close.

He leaves Derek lying there, relatively sure he’s not going to die in the immediate future, and heads to the bathroom. He strips his shirt off and flicks on the shower, not bothering to let the water heat up before he leans halfway in. It’s just enough to rinse most of the lighter fluid out of his hair. 

Eyes screwed shut Chris scrubs at as much exposed skin as he feels the water reach. He snaps the shower off and stands there, bent over and dripping, listening for any movement in the other room. Not hearing anything Chris shakes his head and roughly dries off with a towel. 

He leans in on his way to his bedroom to see that Derek’s still out cold on the floor, right where he left him. Chris snags a shirt out of the drawer and makes his way to the kitchen, where he soaks a dishrag in water.

He pauses at the doorway. As much as his gut tells him that Derek is no longer a danger, his hunter mind whispers other things, dangerous things. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and calls Allison. It takes four rings before she answers.

“Dad?”

“Allison—” Noises on the other end of the line stop him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fi…” A scuffling noise and muffled voices. “Everything’s fine,” she says in a very put on everything’s-not-fine tone. 

Chris can hear her fake smile. He itches to demand that she tell him what’s happening, but he’s not sure if that’s the best choice at the moment. The muffled voices are back, something that sounds like water running, and then Allison sighs.

“We had some trouble, but everything’s okay now.” She rushes to add the last part. “The nogitsune sent out these flies, they possessed the twins and Isaac, but Deaton says that once he pulls the flies out of them they’ll be fine.” 

There’s a swhooshing noise and then a muffled “Right?” Chris barely hears Deaton’s voice answer in the affirmative, then some wet coughing and another girl’s voice, Chris thinks it might be Kira, mumble about something being gross.

He looks in on Derek again, straining to see that he’s still breathing. Chris closes his eyes. It’s always something isn’t it, dark and terrible and not normal. But if that’s what’s happened to Derek… “Allison?” It sounds like there’s fabric against the phone so Chris tries again, louder. “Allison.”

“I’m here. Sorry,” she adds, but she still sounds distracted.

“What’s Deaton doing?”

“Oh, he’s, umm, reaching down their throats? To get the fly?” She pauses, but Chris doesn’t ask anything else. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“It’s fine. I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up and re-pockets the phone. 

Chris takes a moment to think about what he’s about to do while the towel gripped in his hand drips water on the floor. He winds across the room and kneels next to Derek. He reaches out to touch him, shaking him by the shoulder. “Derek?” Chris shakes a little harder. “Come on, Derek.” Derek’s eyes move behind his closed eyelids. Chris calls his name again and his eyes slid open. 

Chris reaches back to touch his gun, just in case. But Derek just blinks, bleary and confused. Chris watches as it all comes crashing back, watches Derek’s eyes grow larger, his breathing quicken. Derek’s eyes dart around the room and he tries to get his hands under himself to scoot away from Chris, but Chris puts a steady hand on his shoulder. “No, it’s okay Derek,” Chris tries to sound as reassuring as a hunter with a wolf in his house can. “You’re okay.”

He helps Derek lean against the front of a chair and kneels next to him. “You remember what happened?”

Derek clearly does, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Chris, throat bobbing and jaw clenched like he’s got his words stuck.

Chris brings the damp towel up slowly, letting Derek see every move he makes. “I had a little talk with Deaton.” He says, conversationally, wiping the black goo from Derek’s chin and not thinking about how strange this is. “Said some interesting things about wolves being possessed by nogitsune flies.” He lets the information hang. 

It’s absolutely quiet in the house. Derek’s face twist into a glower, eyes dark and burning a hole in the floor. 

“It wasn’t you, Derek.” Chris finishes cleaning Derek’s face and leans back. He wonders if running the cloth over Derek’s eyes would take the dark circles away.

“How do you know?” Derek’s still looking at the floor and says it so softly that Chris thinks he might be talking to himself.

“I know you don’t want to burn me,” Chris says. It’s full of conviction that Chris didn’t even realize he felt. But the same way he knows that he doesn’t want Derek dead he knows that Derek doesn’t want him dead.

Derek finally looks up at him and Chris can see that he desperately wants to believe him.

Chris sighs. “We have to get the fly out. Okay?” He wants Derek to make this easy, to just go along with it, without it turning into a whole thing, and without just getting up and leaving to deal with it himself.

Derek’s chewing on his words again, jaw clenched so tight Chris worries that he’s going to snap some teeth. But then he nods. “What do we do?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

Chris pushes him to lean back again the chair. Derek is loosely compliant, letting Chris direct him to tilt his chin up, but his eyes are tracking Chris’ every move. Chris watches him force his hands to unclench at his sides. 

“Relax, Derek,” Chris says, low and quiet, apologetic. “This is only going to work if you’re relaxed.”

Some of the tension slowly eases out of Derek’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, breathing deep, and opens his mouth.

It’s a wild show of trust that gives Chris a funny feeling in his chest and he cups the back of one hand around the back of Derek’s neck. “Okay,” he pauses, his fingers at Derek’s lips. “No teeth.” It’s a light warning and Chris swears he can see a small uptick at the corner of Derek’s mouth.

He slides his fingers into Derek’s mouth, trying to make his hand as small as possible. Derek tenses up when Chris’ fingers hit the back of his tongue and Chris freezes. “You’re doing good,” he murmurs as his hand lightly squeezes Derek’s neck. He feels Derek relax again and slides in a little more. 

Chris can feel Derek’s hot breath ghosting over his hand. Short, choppy, almost panting. “Breathe through your nose, Derek,” Chris instructs him and waits until he feels the change in airflow before reaching towards the back of Derek’s throat. 

He’s not entirely sure what he should be feeling for, just hoping that he’ll know it when his fingers hit it and hoping that there wasn’t anything complicated left out of Deaton’s instructions. Derek moves slightly and Chris tightens his grip on his neck. “Almost…” He feels something brush against his fingertips. “I think I—”

Derek suddenly twists, turning away and wrenching Chris’ hand out of this mouth. He crouches on his knees, body a tense line, and then he drags his own hand up to his mouth. It sounds like he’s dredging something up from the bottom of his feet and Chris’ core aches with sympathy. Derek coughs, deep and heavy sounding, almost gagging with it. 

Chris nearly says something about a gag reflex before he sees the black gunk spilling past Derek’s fingers. He reaches for Derek, fingers unsure before he finally commits to a gentle touch on Derek’s side. Derek doesn’t react, doesn’t pull away, so Chris eases closer and wraps an arm around Derek’s middle. He can feel Derek’s stomach muscles tightening under his hand before Derek coughs and retches again, bringing up more black ooze. 

“It’s okay,” he says as he rubs Derek’s heaving back. “You’re okay.” He’s not sure if Derek’ can hear him, he’s not even sure if he believes what’s he’s saying because nothing about this seems okay. He wonders if this happened to the twins, or to Isaac, or if Chris had done something wrong that Derek was now paying the price for. 

Derek keeps coughing, keeps spilling out blackness, and Chris hugs Derek closer to his body. “Come on, Derek. You’re almost done.” God, he hopes Derek is almost done. He’s barely taking breaths between the coughs and Chris can feel his body shaking from the strain. Derek gags one last time and spits up the fly. It lands in the middle of the puddle of black.

“Oh,” Chris says, trying really hard not to sound disgusted. “Good job.”

Derek drops his head back onto Chris’ shoulder and rolls his eyes a little. Then he’s a heavy, almost dead, weight against him and Chris tips both of the back to lean against the front of the chair. 

They sit there for a minute, Derek nestled between Chris’ legs. Neither man says anything for so long that Chris wonders if Derek’s passed out again, but then there’s a small motion from Derek. He doesn’t try to get up, just adjusts the angle of his head a bit so that it’s more comfortably resting at the junction of Chris’ shoulder and neck.

“I’m sorry about your rug.”

A laugh bubbles up in Chris’ chest as he looks at the rug, ruined with lighter fluid and werewolf goo. He tilts his own head so that it rests lightly on top of Derek’s. “This is why I don’t let animals in the house.”


End file.
